


So You Didn't Get Eaten by Nearly Headless Nick?

by rionaleonhart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-02
Updated: 2006-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24230548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rionaleonhart/pseuds/rionaleonhart
Summary: Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond and James May find themselves in the wizarding world. Obviously, the thing to do in this situation is have a race.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	So You Didn't Get Eaten by Nearly Headless Nick?

"So," Richard said. "We're in Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" repeated Jeremy.

"Yeah. It's the - it's the school in _Harry Potter_. You know."

"I _don't_ know. I'd heard of Hogwarts, but I thought it was just some skin condition Harry Whatshisname had."

"Are you telling me you've never read a _Harry Potter_ book?"

"What tipped you off?"

James May, who never quite ceased to be amazed by the incredible ability of his fellow presenters to completely miss the point, quietly observed that perhaps the being-at-Hogwarts thing was something that they should be focusing on.

"Right," Jeremy said. "What do they have here?"

"Magic?" suggested Richard, after the tiniest of incredulous pauses.

"Apart from that. Do they have cars?"

"You know, magic would be enough for most people."

" _Do they have cars?_ "

"I, er, I don't think so."

"Not interested, then. Let's get out of here."

"You're not the slightest bit intrigued by the fact that we've just dropped into a fictional world?"

"Don't have cars. Not interested."

There was a pause.

"You know," said James, "they _do_ have brooms here."

"Fantastic. You can clean the place up before we go."

"Broomsticks. Flying brooms."

Jeremy was silent for a moment, staring at him.

"Flying brooms?"

"Flying brooms."

Another pause.

"I wonder how well they'd fly if they were on fire?"

-

"So, this is the fastest thing you've got?" Jeremy asked. Behind him, James looked meaningfully at Richard and mouthed 'POWER!'. "How many brake horsepower is it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, for God's sake. _How many brake horsepower does this broom have?_ " he said, exaggeratedly loudly and slowly.

The poor girl behind the counter looked terrified. "Um - "

"Or owlpower, or - or dragonpower, or whatever you people measure it in. For God's sake, you must have _some_ way of measuring power."

"The Cirrus MX is the fastest broom on the market at the moment, and - "

"I _don't care!_ "

Richard snorted. "Yes, you do."

"Saying it's the fastest broom on the market means _nothing_ to me when I've got no way of _measuring_ how fast it is. How fast are brooms generally? Could I outrun, say, Captain Slow in his incredible flying machine on one of these?" He paused. "That's probably a bad example. A _regular_ broom could do that."

James interposed. "You'll have to excuse my companion; he's a lunatic," he said reassuringly to the shopgirl, before pointing out the copies of _Which Broomstick_ stacked beside the till. "You might want to take a look at these before you kill the poor girl, Jeremy."

Jeremy seized a magazine and began hunting through it, ignoring the protests of the shopgirl.

"My _God_ , this is boring," he concluded eventually. "Broom journalism obviously needs us. Okay, I'll have the MX. Do you take credit cards?"

-

James was the one to suggest that maybe, just maybe, it might be an idea to get their hands on some wands. Jeremy approached wand-buying with the same courtesy and quiet consideration that he did everything else.

"Right," he said, flinging open the door of the little shop. "What's the longest wand you've got here?"

Mr. Ollivander looked very slightly taken aback. "Seventeen inches, but - "

"I'll have that, then."

"It's not that simple, Jeremy," James said mildly, torn between amusement and mortification. "The wand chooses the wizard, you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, in the wizarding world you can't just barge into a wand shop and yell 'POWER!'. You have to try out different wands, and if it's the right one for you it'll work. It might be three inches long. You haven't got a choice."

"Oh, God. I bet you know all sorts of pointless trivia about 'the wizarding world', don't you? If cars chose their riders you'd have a Reliant Robin."

Richard moved quietly away and interested himself in the wandboxes lining the walls before anyone could make any Mini-related comments.

"So," Jeremy continued, turning on Mr. Ollivander, "it's all just trial and error? There's no magical scan, no better way of doing this?"

Mr. Ollivander cleared his throat. "This method has long been known to be the most effective, and - "

"Useless. And Hammond thought magic was better than cars. Fine, I'll wave a few sticks around if it'll make you happy."

Mr. Ollivander, who was disliking this customer more by the second, bowed and scurried off to find the shortest wands he had.

-

Obviously, as the three of them had been suddenly flung into a fictional world, rife with magic, culture and fascinating creatures, there was only one thing that they could reasonably do.

They were going to have a race.

-

It began, as all things on _Top Gear_ seemed to, with an argument. James had run into a friendly but slightly shifty-looking bloke from whom he had bought a magic carpet. Jeremy, despite having no previous experience of magic carpets, took one look at it and immediately dubbed them ‘the people-carriers of the sky’. James suggested giving it a chance, Jeremy proposed a race, and it was all downhill from there.

"Right. So, we meet up in a brothel in Tokyo - "

"Not a brothel, Jeremy."

"What's wrong with a brothel? Fine. We'll meet up at the Tokyo Tower - or, should I say, _you_ will arrive at the Tokyo Tower to find that I got bored after three hours of waiting and flew home."

Richard, who had been foolish enough to leave the two of them alone for five minutes, was somewhat dismayed when he returned to find out that he was off on an eleven-hour flight to Tokyo, whether he liked it or not.

-

“You put it on an airfield.”

“Well, yes. For take-off.”

“James, it’s a _rug_. It can’t _really_ need an airfield to take off, can it? Because I think I just might fall off a Persian carpet pelting along a runway – _nrrrrrrrow!_ – at a hundred miles an hour.”

“Er. You’re probably right, actually.”

Richard rolled his eyes and walked around the magic carpet, examining it. He had come around to the idea of the race fairly quickly – despite having to travel with the ever-inscrutable James – upon learning that the carpet had heating and wind-protection spells woven into it, and, moreover, that Jeremy’s broom did not. The event was also beginning to bring out his competitive streak.

"The thing is, there are two of us, so we can take turns driving the carpet. If Clarkson wants a rest, he's going to have to land. We are _going_ to win this."

"Might be better if neither of us actually falls asleep, though," James said.

"Yeah, that reminds me. If you fall off the carpet, don't think I'm going back for you. This is a _race_."

James raised his eyebrows. "Good to know the spirit of _Top Gear_ camaraderie hasn't been affected by all this."

-

"The Cirrus is a good long-distance broom," said Jeremy, with a slightly dubious glance at the tiny winged ball that, he had been assured, was filming him. "The Firebolt is actually faster over short distances and has better acceleration, but it's more of a Quidditch broom. _This_ is a broom for racing." He paused. "It's probably not a broom for racing from Hogsmeade to Tokyo. I don't think the makers really took the possibility of the _Top Gear_ team getting their hands on it into account. But there's only one way of - oh, Christ."

Jeremy stared around at the flock of birds that he had somehow become a part of and quietly swore never to take his attention off where he was going again.

"Right. Fortunately I've just run into a load of stupid birds, rather than being sucked into the engine of an aeroplane or something, but if I get beaten by Captain Slow on his airborne rug because of this it's going to be just as bad." He looked at the birds again. "I suppose the Animal Rights activists will come after me if I break their necks?"

-

"Hammond? How's it going?"

"Er, not that well, actually."

"Really? Fantastic. What's going on?"

"We've sort of been pulled over."

" _Pulled over?_ What, did you run a flying traffic light?"

There was a pause. Richard cleared his throat.

"The magic carpet. Did you know they're illegal in the UK?"

Jeremy, laughing uncontrollably, hung up. Richard put the communicator back into his pocket and grinned sheepishly at the frowning official on her broom.

"We're in a race," James was explaining, "and if we lose then Jeremy will make fun of us. It's really quite important."

She didn't look convinced.

-

“Hammond and May are being arrested,” Jeremy said, manoeuvring cautiously through the flock of birds. “So, even if they’re going to make me King of the Geese and trap me here forever or I’m about to be pecked to death, _something_ worthwhile has come out of this race. Somehow I thought that traffic wouldn’t really be so much of a _problem_ in the air. Maybe if – there we go! I’m free!

“You know,” he continued, twitching the broom back on course, “being stuck in there wasn’t entirely a bad thing. I mean, obviously it was bad because it gave Hammond and Captain Slow the advantage – or at least it would have if they weren’t about to get locked up right now – but it gave me the chance to show you how well this thing handles. What’s really nice is that, even though I’m a bit of a Colossus compared to the skinny, Hammond-esque Quidditch players you usually see on these sorts of brooms, it still moves beautifully. While obviously a broom is never going to be a great handler if it was, say, cobbled together from sticks that were just lying around – Comet, I’m looking at you – the speed and manoeuvrability generally depend a lot on the size and weight of the rider, but on an MX even an American could turn corners. Not that they’d need to.”

-

Forty minutes and a severe cautioning later, James and Richard were back on their way.

"Why do you think magic carpets were banned?" Richard asked, holding onto the edge of the carpet and watching the mountains pass by below. "Look, this rug can go higher than your plane!"

James chose to ignore the comment. "Weren't you listening to that woman?"

"I was too busy worrying about how smug Clarkson would be about it. What did she say?"

"Too conspicuous. People could mistake a broom for a bird or something if it's high up enough, but a big rectangular thing in the sky is a bit strange."

"Is that it?"

"Well, and they're dangerous. If you're on a broom you can grip with your legs, but you could easily just fall off a carpet."

Richard blinked nervously and tightened his grip on the edge.

"The advantage of magic carpets," James continued, switching his attention to the camera, "is that, while brooms are entirely controlled by the rider, carpets can actually have some intelligence sort of built in. So you can tell it that you're going to Tokyo and it'll keep you on course - sort of like SAT-NAV, except it actually works. You've still got to keep your eyes open in case it decides that the quickest route is through a mountain or something, but basically what this means is that we've got a much easier time of it than Jeremy has."

James didn't realise exactly how true those words were, as he had no idea that, at the precise moment he was saying them, the tail of Jeremy's broom was on fire.

-

Although Jeremy swore insistently that Richard had sabotaged his broom, the true reason for its bursting into flame was obvious to anyone who cared to examine the footage: becoming increasingly cold and uncomfortable, Jeremy had decided to create an invisible bubble of warmth around himself with magic. Unfortunately he had become so caught up in methods of magical transport that he had never really bothered to actually _learn_ any magic, and so he resorted to making random wand movements, convinced that _something_ would have to happen, at least.

In the ensuing emergency landing, desperate search for water and somewhat shamefaced visit to a broomstick repair shop, he lost the lead by a quite considerable margin.

-

"So, this is your broom?" the repairman asked, taking it and examining the damage. "An MX? What happened to it?"

Jeremy carefully averted his eyes. "I may have sort of set it on fire," he confessed.

The repairman raised his eyebrows and turned his attention back to the broomstick, trying to hide his laughter. "It'll need a full tail replacement." He frowned. "We've actually had a lot of these in lately. I'm not sure we've got enough MX twigs left for a proper tail. If you can leave it with us until Monday - "

"There is no way I'm waiting until Monday. I'm in a _race_ , and even May would have got to Tokyo and back by then. I'll give you fifteen minutes."

He looked askance at Jeremy for a moment. "Well, I suppose we _could_ put in a couple of Nimbus twigs. The models are quite similar."

"Oh, great. Just like giving a Lamborghini one wheel from a Rover. I'm sure that'll work."

"If you want a quick repair, it's your best option. You need a full tail, because otherwise the balance'll be off. I promise you, you won't even notice the difference."

"Really?"

"Really."

-

Sitting astride his broomstick with its permanent list to the left, Jeremy Clarkson swore revenge.

-

"It's a bit like _Aladdin_ , isn't it?" James asked, leaning back on his elbows as they flew over Russia at night.

"If you start singing 'A Whole New World', I _am_ going to kill you. I swear it."

James couldn't resist such temptation. " _I can show you the world_ \- "

"Stop it!"

" _Shining, shimmering_ \- Hammond!"

The footage of the next few seconds was dark and chaotic. Richard insisted afterwards that he had been desperately trying to scramble away from the clearly insane James, while James claimed that Richard had flung himself at him, either to kill him or because he just couldn't resist the allure of his off-key singing. Whatever it was, _something_ happened that pitched Richard Hammond off the carpet and into the cold night air.

-

"Now, as you can see, this broom is fitted with headlights. You may not have noticed them before, for the very good reason that they weren't there." If that silly flying camera-ball was actually getting a clear recording of this, he was going to eat his remaining hair. "Technically I'm not supposed to modify this broom, but cheating has always been an important part of the _Top Gear_ tradition. My point is that, if you go to buy the Cirrus MX, don't expect it to come with headlights, because it doesn't. I don't understand these people. They're able to make bits of wood shoot through the air, but not one of them ever thought 'hmm, perhaps it might be useful to be able to see at night'? You know what; forget it. Just buy a car. If I'm interpreting that dark shape up there correctly, I'm just about to encounter another flock of stupid geese."

-

James stared for a moment, unable to believe what had just happened, before scrambling to the edge of the carpet and grabbing the wand in his belt. He tried Summoning him - " _Accio Hammond!_ " - without effect, and then gripped the side as hard as he could and kicked the carpet into a dive. Richard had already fallen so far that he couldn't even tell where he was, let alone catch him, but he had to try.

James was just beginning to give up hope and wonder how to break the news to Richard's family when a broom hoved into view carrying two people, the passenger in the back with his arms tightly wrapped around the waist of the man in front.

"He's trying to commit suicide already, May?" Jeremy called. "Were you talking about true airspeed again?"

"You did _not_ just catch him," James said in disbelief.

"Oh, I think I did."

"You _couldn't_ have caught him," James said, staring at Jeremy's passenger. He certainly _looked_ like Richard, but that was obviously impossible. "How were you able to see him in this light?"

Jeremy suddenly looked shifty, and, after a moment, James realised why.

"...Did you strap _headlights_ to the front of your broom?"

"I wanted it to feel more carlike," Jeremy said with a shrug.

"That's cheating!" Richard said indignantly. "No modifications, remember?"

"That just saved your life! Do you really think I'd have seen you in time otherwise?" He switched them on, illuminating the space around them with a light quite adequate for spotting a falling Richard Hammond. "I'd sort of hoped you wouldn't notice, but you cunningly tricked me into revealing them by almost getting yourself killed."

Richard, torn between relief at being saved and rage at the fact that he had been saved by a _cheating Jeremy Clarkson_ , made an odd noise that could have been interpreted in a dozen different ways and hastily withdrew his arms from Jeremy's waist when he realised that one of them was lust.

"It's cold, Hammond," James said, with the subtlest of evil smiles. "Get back on the carpet. We can huddle together for warmth."

Richard's eyes widened. "Er, I think I'll just stay here with Jeremy, thanks."

"You will not," Jeremy said. "I want as little weight on here as possible, and even The Smallest Man In The World would be dragging me back. Get back to your boyfriend."

"This whole race is a bit pointless, isn't it?" James asked Jeremy, as Richard stepped gingerly back onto the flying carpet. "We're both going as the crow flies, so all we can really establish is which one's faster in a straight line. We could have done that without going to Japan."

"It's not just that. I mean, we already _know_ that you're sitting on a silly rag with all the aerodynamic properties of a sheep, but in a long-distance race we can find out everything _else_ that's wrong with it as well. It's already nearly killed Hammond, for one thing." He paused. "I'm not entirely sure that's really a disadvantage, though."

"Oh, thanks."

"Still," James said, "if we're going by essentially the same route - "

"It's a bloody good thing we're going by essentially the same route, James, because it means that I can save your lives when you fall off that deathtrap of a flying machine. Of course, I won't be able to do that for much longer, because in a few minutes I'll be miles out in front of you. I'm only back here now because my broom was a little bit on fire."

-

Back in the studio, Jeremy shuffled his feet and looked in a slightly sheepish manner at the camera. “Now, the original plan was to fly all the way to Tokyo, but because we are enormous children we sort of got distracted by a my-broom’s-better-than-your-carpet argument.”

He paused.

“And then we were hit by a car.”

-

“All I’m saying is that this broom is sleek and aerodynamic. You two, on the other hand, are sitting on a _carpet_. Carpets were not designed to be flown around on.”

“To be fair, neither were brooms,” James commented.

“That’s not the point. The point is that a broom adapts well to the air, it _works_. Making a _carpet_ fly is – well, it’s like trying to turn a camper van into a houseboat,” Jeremy said, with a significant glance at Richard.

“I think what you’re forgetting to mention is that _we_ are actually _comfortable_ ,” Richard retorted, nettled. “You’re going to have a bit of wood between your legs all night. I could lie down on this if I wanted.” He glanced down. “I’m, er, I’m not going to right now, because I’m a bit nervous about, you know, falling off, but – ”

“Well, I personally think that being uncomfortable is quite a big improvement over being dead. I don’t know, maybe that’s just me.”

“Poppycock,” James said. “If these were cars you’d go for the fastest, most insane one there is and damn the safety all to hell.”

“Do you _really_ expect _anyone_ to seriously listen to the opinion of a man who says ‘poppycock’? If these – ”

But Jeremy was suddenly cut off by something clipping the tail of his broom and almost jolting him off it. He yelled and gripped the handle as hard as he could, trying to right himself without falling. The broom remained in the air, but it kept shuddering and twitching, and when he felt secure enough to look back over his shoulder Jeremy saw that half the twigs – the brand-new, mostly-the-right-sort-of twigs that he’d just got replaced a couple of hours earlier – had been broken off.

“Oh, you must be _joking_.”

“Sorry!” an alarmed-sounding voice called. Jeremy spun around on his broom – a bad move, as in its new twig-deprived state it pitched wildly at any sudden movement – but couldn’t see anyone else.

“Where are you?” he called, trying to stay as still as possible and not to let his voice betray his very real intent to kill whoever it was who had done this to him.

A large blue object flickered into view, and Jeremy forgot his homicidal urges in his astonishment.

“It’s a flying car!” Richard exclaimed, amazed.

“Well, of course it is,” James said, far too calmly for someone who had just seen a sky-blue Ford appear in midair. “The Weasley family have a flying car. It’s in the second book.” 

“It’s a flying _Ford Anglia_ ,” Jeremy said, with mingled incredulity and disgust.

“It’s still a flying car!” Richard said, delighted. “Do you think we could get one?”

“If you’re going to have a flying car, _why_ would you have a _Ford Anglia?_ Why not an – why not a flying Aston Martin? A flying DB9 would really be something. _Why_ a _Ford Anglia?_ ”

The red-haired, bespectacled man in the car looked terrified. “I, um – ”

“You know what, forget it. You’ve just destroyed my broom, and you didn’t even have the decency to do it with a _good car_. Go. I banish you from the _Top Gear_ presenters’ presence.”

“I really am very sorry,” he said nervously. “If there’s – if there’s anything I can do for you – I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to cover the cost of repairs, but if I can do anything – ”

Jeremy stared at him for a moment.

“Well, I’ve got an Aston Martin...”

-

“So, we never actually _finished_ the race,” Jeremy admitted, back in the studio. “My broom was completely hopeless, and I wasn’t in the mood to have a repairman try to fix it with straw and Comet twigs, so we all came back by flying carpet. We all know that I would have won anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.” He raised his voice, speaking over Richard’s protests. “But we _did_ get a flying Aston Martin out of it, and here it is!” He pointed to the DB9, rather unnecessarily; most of the audience were already looking apprehensively up at as it circled threateningly over their heads.

“Now,” he continued, “obviously it would be unfair to put a flying car on the track, because it wouldn’t be limited by all those bits of grass and corners and things. But, quite frankly, we didn’t care. So now the flying Aston Martin tops our power lap board at thirty-seven seconds.

“Next week we’ll be finding out how many twigs you can remove from a Firebolt’s tail before you crash into the ground and die horribly, and pitting a shopping trolley against a Land Rover, because we’re not giving up on earthbound cars just yet. See you then. Goodnight!”


End file.
